It looked all but trashed inside, with wallpaper coming loose, plaster debris, holes in walls, broken glass, miscellaneous discarded items strewn about, filthy carpet, pervasive odor of dry rot, evidence of youthful partying, copious evidence of rodent activity, etc. Yet this mansion, on the National Register of Historic Places, was open to the public, for anyone who wanted to go inside.

Sunday must have been Opposite Day. According to its posted hours, the fire museum should have been open, but it wasn't. According to the conditions inside, this place shouldn't have been open, but it was. I have to assume that the people who open the mansion on Sundays have no idea it's so bad inside.

Anyway, D. and I poked around for a few minutes, and I took a few pics while I held my breath and watched very carefully where I trod (and then changed clothes and washed and disinfected my shoes after I got home).

The exterior of the Italianate Victorian mansion, built between 1858 and 1860, looks decent enough.

The foyer, and its crystal chandelier.

One of the parlors, with its incongruous retrofitted shag carpet and track lighting.

Looking through doorways.

A dislocated window sash rests against a wall.

The kitchen is a mess.

All righty then.

"And one day you did not come home . . . my world became black."

A blue room.

A dirty sink full of debris.

An escutcheon for a missing chandelier.

The view of the entryway from the stair landing.

The second floor wallpaper is nice; one of the very few not-nasty things inside.